


My Little Bird

by weeweeniall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Broken Love, Drabble, F/M, One Shot, Sad, fem!Zayn, otp, weeweeniall, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeweeniall/pseuds/weeweeniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loved her with all of his heart, but she was never meant to be his.<br/>Birds were never meant to be caged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Little Bird

**Author's Note:**

> A/N  
> Sorry this is just a little drabble I cooked up while on a 17 hour road trip. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

 Birds were always extraordinary to him. They demanded to be free. To feel the breeze of innocence rolling against their feathers that made up the very fabric of flight. Weaving through clouds and unraveling the  pastel thread of sky. Simply _breathtaking._

 

Humans, oh humans were also breathtaking, but in a very different chapter. Humans stood ruthless as they locked away the birds, empowered by the capture of such a pure being, because that’s what birds embodied,  _purity._ Birds were air, they were the very sky above the heads of those that could only reach as far as they could jump, and most importantly, they were dreams; dreams of freedom. And humans took his breath away as they chained the birds that woke him each morning with songs of promise, prisoners within bars of cheap, bent metal and plastic.

 

 _She was his bird_.

 

Happiness swelling as he watched his little sparrow look at the sky. The afternoon sun casting whispers of night across her cheeks, her smile radiating.

“Look babe, that one looks like a bicycle!” she would point lazily to a group of clouds that most certainly did not look like a bicycle, but he would just grin and take her in. Soak in the spirit of his own little happiness.

“Yeah, it does.”

 

He remembered the joy housing his heart when she dropped the creamer one sleepy morning. Mangled curses fell from her lips as white overtook their tile. He remembered how she rushed to throw down paper towels, and scowled at him as he stood in the doorway.

“Babe cmon, give me a little help here.”

He bent down next to her on his hands and knees and scooped up the now empty carton, chuckling as she scrambled around. He knew she was worried that she was already messing up their new apartment, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that when they sat at their thrifted kitchen table, she looked at him with what seemed like all the love in the world.

“I'm sorry that I spilled all the coffee creamer, I didn’t mean too, it just slipped.” both of them held their mugs between their hands, taking in the warmth of their practically straight coffee. He caught the clusters of embarrassment in her eyes and took a big swig from his mug.

“It's alright baby, I like it better like this anyway.”

 

 

And the excitement that billowed around her like wind, ruffling her hair and satin top as he stood on one knee was filed away in his mind. The complete ecstasy so strong, it tumbled down her cheeks like drops of dew. They stained his shirt and blotched her makeup, but he slipped the stone on to her finger, a loop of gold and crystal. He used the last of his grandads inheritance money to get it, but as he ran his fingers over the ring that meant _his,_ it didn’t matter anymore.

“Wow, this..this is amazing. I love you” she laid her wrists on his shoulders and tangled her fingers in his hair, tickling the nape of his neck.

“I love you too baby, always.”

 

But something so pure was never meant to be claimed and the same ring that once caused comets of bliss behind her eyes, became her cage. He watched helplessly, as his sparrow dropped her wings, no longer waiting for the freedom of wind, shackled to the ground. Her face paled and she thinned, knotted hair framing her dead eyes. It killed him knowing that he was the one to clip her wings.

 

Laughter seemed to disappear and words were becoming rare among them. Their house.. _the_ house seemed so empty _._ So when she came to him, tracing her fingertips along the buttons of his shirt, the uneasiness that settled in his stomach demanded to be felt.

“You know that I will never stop caring for you right?” he felt the constriction of sorrow and he struggled to breath. He became light headed, from the way her words heavily hung between them and her avoidance of the word _love_.

“Of course baby.”

 

When he woke the following morning, he almost wasn't surprised that the sheets beside him were cold and cluttered with emptiness. Every trace of her was gone, the dress he bought her when they went to Spain, _gone_. Her shampoos and toothbrush, _gone_. The books that she constantly reread as she sat in the windowsill, _gone_. Everything was _gone gone gone_. He screamed and cried, threw the clothesless hangers to the ground and cursed at God.

But on her nightstand, his ring of gold and crystal.

The note underneath it was small and the ink was smeared with the destruction of tears. His hands grasped tightly to the paper and sobs blurred his eye sight, but her 2 words were as clear as could be.

_Love always._

He wished he had realized sooner that in the end, she was never meant to be his.

 

Hazy days turned to hazy months which turned to a hazy year, and he felt like he was drunk. Every thought twisted with the absence of her. He did not move anything, not even the horrid velvet chair that was tucked into the corner of _his_ room. Only god would know the hurt that little titled caused him. During showers, when the sadness dulled enough for him to even get out of bed, he would rinse with soap that smelled strongly of peaches. It was her favorite. Then he would wrap up in her towel, her initials embroidered in the corner with lavender thread.

_Nothing seemed real anymore._

 

Until the day that Louis came over, finally having enough of seeing the agony that feel over him, cold, like snow. The stove turned on, and the smell of pancakes drifted through the apartment, fighting with the mix of moth balls and emptiness.

After breakfast Louis convinced him to tidy up, clean the kitchen and organize the cabinets. But he didn’t want to, the house held traces of her. Memories where hidden among the specs of dust and grime. That was something he couldn't possibly disturb, but he knew he had to eventually.

“Mate I think you should do the laundry, you know clean the sheets and duvet.” Louis grabbed for the field of polyester but stopped when he saw the tears on his friend's face. He couldn't let him do it. He couldn't let Louis wash away the last fragments of her. The very footprints of her perfume that were slowly fading along with his sanity, the curve of her body that he could almost imagine still etched in the duvet. Those sheets were what watched her leave. They were the last to touch her skin and surely some of her breathy _love you's_ were trapped within the cotton count. And the newness of detergent would mask every aspect he had left of her. He just couldn't let that happen.

 

After calming him down, Louis left and he rushed up the stairs. The door to his bedroom was already open. He slipped the blankets of her between his fingers as he wrapped himself in fake comfort. From the back of his mind he could hear her whisper to him, the wind whipped through her hair, the colors of love surrounded her, even in the blind darkness. Her smile, shining with laughter and a new world. He imagined were his bird was now that she was free, and if between the clouds and quilted sky she thought of him whispering too, the very same words, at the very same time.

 

“ _I love you, always_ ”


End file.
